Claimed
by Author of Doom Rin
Summary: He doesn't just want Midou's blood. Oh no, his obsession runs far deeper than that. Darkfic, MM and creepiness.


Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, and really I'd rather not have Fudou. Really I am. I think I've made the dude creepier, which is quite a frightening thought. Yicht. …Anyhoo, Get Backers ain't mine, cuz Yuya Aoki and Rando Ayamine-sensei do a much better job with them. Their Fudou's less weird too.

Author's Notes: Noting progress. 1st Scent, then What If, now this. Thus we progress from romantic-angst, to tragedy and angst, and finally to plain 'ol creepiness. I really have to get back on track.

I really surprised myself with this one. There I am, sitting innocently in Trig & Pre-Calc (Quite possibly the most stimulating class _ever_), when along comes Fudou demanding a fic about him! Well, I was reluctant to say the least, but one does not want a crabby Fudou loose in one's head, no one does not. I really don't have anything to say about this one but well… It freaks me out too.

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**Claimed**

by Rin

_WARNING: Includes underage, MALE RAPE! And much Creepiness._

When he next saw the boy, he would kill him. It was his right: he had claimed the boy as his own, and his property had been unfaithful. Yes. his boy would pay in blood for those transgressions.

Before, his boy had looked entirely delicious; young, fresh, unspoiled. Face still innocent and soft. Such a pretty little boy, with the empty smile, that angry cobalt glare, and the intoxicatingly deadly aura that set his nerves on fire.

His boy was strong, oh yes, and cunning. They worked well together. It was only right for the boy to be his – his boy had agreed, agreed to a partnership as a duo of Snatchers. It was only right for him to take his due.

It was good, so good. He regrets there was no repeat of the experience. His boy had looked beautiful, had hissed and writhed underneath as he took him, face contorted in pain and fury. The boy enjoyed it too; the crushing grip, the growls and agonized breaths left no doubt in his mind.

He fondly recalls the boy's hollow, glazed eyes afterward, body bruised and bloodied.

His boy left, but a few days later, returned looking much stronger than he had that last night, as the boy curled up into a trembling ball, trying to sleep after the claiming.

When he tried to show the boy how much he had missed him, the boy paled, and attacked. He defended himself, of course, and the ensuing fight was almost as good as what he'd originally planned. In his mind, it was a heady sort of foreplay, lust for blood and his boy mixing together until he could not tell them apart.

The boy was losing. He could tell in the way those awkward, too-long limbs slowed, in the fading aura, of how the boy was tiring. It was perfectly understandable, and he did not discredit the boy for the weakness. His boy was still growing, after all, and once he had grown into his abilities… he would be magnificent. A cold-blooded killer, his.

He pinned the boy to the lair's wall, enjoying the anger in those eyes, that spark of fear. He bit his boy sharply, a claiming mark. And began to prove to his boy who was the master.

When he looked up after a moment, his gaze fell upon that soft, panting mouth, with teeth grit and blood trickling out of one corner.

With a desperate snarl, his boy wrenched his right hand out of his grasp with a sound of snapping bone. One finger bent and useless.

"Don't. _Touch_. Me, Bastard!" The boy hissed, and the look in his eyes promised death.

And then that deceptively thin hand was at his throat, squeezed. "Don't _ever_ touch me again."

His head spun from adrenaline and lack of oxygen as his boy's hand tightened with the crushing grip of a python. Those blue eyes flashed, dark pupils contracting into snakish slits, and then he was lost in agonized oblivion.

The boy was gone when he woke. His left arm was torn off at the elbow.

It was years until he next saw his boy. The boy had grown, muscles defined, childhood softness gone, and his features sharpened. He still moved with that deadly grace, masked now by an arrogant swagger it seemed the boy had affected.

He saw the way the cold, dull blue of his boy's eyes had brightened and warmed. The boy's voice had deepened, rougher now, but still retained vestiges that European accent he remembered.

His boy was no longer a boy, and the man left in his boy's stead disgusted him.

He'd watched him on Makubex's monitors, walking into the Fortress. He knew now what a whore his boy was, had seen the way _his_ boy and that godling brat look at each other.

It called for revenge, and all he could think of now was the man's death. He'd make his property bleed, a slow and bloody kill. Perhaps he'll even take the man one last time, just to remember him by, before finishing him off.

Ban Midou was his. And if Takama Fudou could not have him, no one would.

Owar…eeek!

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Authors Note: If you get creeped out, don't flame me… I don't want to post this, but somehow, I can't stop myself… How strange….

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Read and Review Please! And if you _must_ flame me, please offer polite criticism, and explain what I can improve in polite, civil language. After all, we're all people here. All violators of this reviewing policy will be vaporized in my BLENDER OF DOOM.

………Thank you.


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